No Man Left Behind
by Sandylee007
Summary: Deafened and injured badly by an explosion, Clint falls into the hands of an enemy. Will there be a rescue? Will he hang on long enough to find out? Hawkeye-whump, NO PAIRINGS, NO SPOILERS ONESHOT


A/N: So… I couldn't resist typing another 'Avengers' fic. (grins) Before letting you decide whether it's a good thing or not, a few things…

THE BASIC IDEA: Just a little while ago I found out that in the comics, Clint is practically deaf for at least great lengths of time. (Permanently or temporarily, depended on the source I looked into.) Soooo, the thought lived and prospered in my head… This story takes place between the two movies.

WARNINGS: WHUMP (aka violence and injuries), language… Weirdness, of course. Aaaand, miraculously, that's it. (grins)

DISCLAIMER: Nope, sadly my name isn't on the list of people who'd own something of the comics or movies. Nor am I the creator of the pic up above. All credit and praises to whom they belong! (bows)

JUST TO CLEAR OUT: This ISN'T a pure-blooded crossover. BUT, I inserted a couple of Easter eggs, just for fun.

Awkay, because it's best to just get to it… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

 ** _No Man Left Behind_**

* * *

The last thing Clint Barton could remember, aside the quite literally deafening explosion, was a voice screaming out his name through his ear comm. It irked him, far more than would've been acutely healthy, that he couldn't remember whose voice it was. Couldn't remember much at all about the time right before the nightmare he woke up in, really.

There was that mystery voice. Then the explosion. Then pain.

Pain was what he woke up to as well. It flared through him, burning hellishly on its way through. It would've been entirely too tempting to wonder just how badly he'd been injured. He forced his attention elsewhere because at the moment there were far more pressing topics. Such as where he was, because he couldn't recognize the scent and something told him that his current surroundings weren't friendly.

At first Clint lay perfectly still without opening his eyes, trying to listen and ignore the agony gnawing all of him. It was what he'd been taught to do. Listen. Assess the situation before giving yourself away. Gather data that you can use to your advantage.

There was just one problem. A rather big one. Clint couldn't hear a single thing. And since he could feel that he wasn't alone there was only one explanation that he certainly didn't like.

Keeping the tsunami on sheer terror that rose under control was a mighty struggle. Clint's heart hammered at a unhealthy pace while he forced himself to stay put. Convincing himself not to scream was even harder. It helped that his throat felt so raw that he wouldn't have been able produce a sound. But despite all his amazing self control he was only human. His body developed a will of its own. His hands began to shake and that was when he registered the cold metal.

Deaf? And chained or cuffed? Brilliant…!

Clint didn't realize how close he'd been to passing out again until a sharp slap at his face pulled him back to the present. Unable to resist the reflex his eyes snapped open to meet a pair of sharp, grayish blue ones. A vicious sneer greeted his awakening.

His captor, a rather short brown haired man with a deviously friendly face and eyes that didn't suit it at all named Ifan Stravo, was talking constantly. That much Clint's swimming and flickering consciousness was able to register. Somehow he was even able to focus enough to read the criminal's lips, even if the words weren't spoken in English.

'… _should've stayed dead, you stubborn little shit. But no matter, Hawk. We'll fix that. As soon as I've had a little fun with you._ '

Clint gritted his teeth and forced the still surging and spinning fear away from his face. He wasn't about to utter a sound. Especially when he couldn't even hear his own voice. He knew exactly what Ifan was after.

It would've been tempting to reveal that the flash drive Ifan so furiously wanted the get back into his hold was long gone. The list of agents working to stop Ifan's network all over the world… Destroyed. Clint didn't remember much but he did know that making sure the hazardous object was gone had been one of the last things he did before the explosion.

 _You can whack me around all you like, you piece of shit_ , Clint mused with a sick sense of satisfaction. _I did what I was assigned to do. You lost._

His silence didn't seem to impress Ifan. The man's eyes narrowed. ' _You're not feeling co-operative, then? Very well. We have the means to persuade you._ '

Now _that_ didn't sound promising at all.

Ifan motioned to the side and in a flash several of the criminal's men were manhandling Clint up from whatever the platform he'd been on was. He didn't have even a second to counter the attack or prepare himself before the first steel hard kick came, instantly breaking at least one rib. The second came faster than Clint could even try to catch his breath. It was far more harsh than the last yet it wasn't until with number five the archer's tormented body finally gave in and he passed out.

He never once uttered a sound.

* * *

The second time Clint woke up he was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, so high that his toes barely touched the floor. The agony from before had, if possible, multiplied and it took a lot of willpower not to lose consciousness again. Instead he focused, intently keeping his mind on anything but the fact that he still couldn't hear. His eyes darted around and in a few seconds his heart skipped a beat with realization. Clint's whole body shivered. He wasn't sure if the sudden, violent desire to vomit was due to to disgust or a concussion.

A morgue, a freaking morgue?

Apparently yes. There, only two steps away, a man so young that he was rather a boy lay on a slab. Dead as a stone. With a much too familiar arrow still sticking from his chest.

Clint was just about to lose the fight with his stomach when without a warning a rough hand grabbed his hair and yanked. Although he obviously couldn't hear it the archer felt the brief, low growl that crawled through his throat at the unpexted, violent contact. Again he was face to face with Ifan.

' _In every way that counts my men are my sons and my brothers, my family._ ' Ifan's face held a relatively pleasant expression but the criminal's eyes were a whole another story. ' _Is that why you came alone? Because you knew that I'd repay the harm on my family in kind?_ '

Clint refused to dignify that with an answer. Really, he was quite happy with the knowledge that the rest of the Avengers weren't involved in this whole mess. This hadn't been their mission. He'd done what he was assigned to do. The rest… He preferred not thinking about it.

Ifan didn't seem to appreciate his silence, if the twitching eyebrow was anything to go by. ' _According to the information we have your name is William Brandt. But I have a feeling that it isn't the correct one. Very few of those in your profession are careless enough to go by their real identities. And really, code names are far more fun. Makes the whole messy… killing business easier._ ' The criminal took a step closer, approaching him like a lion would an unsuspecting gazelle. ' _I took a look at the surveillance footage. Only one known assassin can use a bow and arrows like you do._ _Your reputation precedes you._ ' Ifan smirked, revealing a row of teeth that had clear cigarette stains. ' _It's an honor to finally meet the famous Hawkeye. Whatever your official name is. I've been a fan since hearing about Miyory._ '

Clint shivered when the man circled behind him, warm breath meeting the back of his neck as Ifan kept talking. If his feet had met the floor enough to enable such he would've pushed his mangled body to a one more attack. Even if the horrific pain radiating from his left leg and the way the limb hung hinted that such an encounter wouldn't have ended well.

The sudden brutal contact to his backside and especially the hellish surge of agony it brought struck Clint breathless in a nanosecond. He gasped, trying to ignore the way his head was spinning, and struggled to comprehend further than the message 'PAIN' all of him was transmitting. This… He knew what this sensation was, even if he'd never been at the receiving end. His dark guess was proven correct when a bow was tossed unceremoniously to the filthy floor right before his feet. _His_ bow.

Finally Ifan stepped into view. The man seemed entirely too satisfied. ' _You still had one arrow left. It would've been a shame to let it go to waste._ ' The criminal sighed and shrugged. ' _Now, it's been a long day and since you're not in a talkative mood, I think I'll go to bed._ ' Ifan gave him a sickly sweet smile that somehow made his eyes seem even more hazardous than before. ' _Goodnight, Hawk. I'll see you in the morning unless you've bled out by then._ ' So saying the monster walked away. And switched off the lights on his way out.

Leaving Clint all alone into the complete darkness. With the dead bodies and the reek of death. Abandoning him there, without his hearing and with no way of seeing a thing, possibly dying. And against his will Clint wondered if after all the numerous close calls this, a rotting hellhole in the middle of nowhere, was how he'd finally die. He was too tired and in too much pain to be startled by that thought.

* * *

It was impossible to estimate the passing time in the utter darkness. Hours, days, years… To Clint it felt like decades. He knew that his time was running out, though. The blood-loss was making his head dangerously hazy. Was he dead already?

Not knowing was the only thing worse than the pain.

Eventually Ifan returned, flicking on the lights so suddenly that Clint bit his lip not to cry out at the assault the brightness brought to his eyes. The other man looked very different from their previous encounter. Pale, sweating, fingers twitching noticeably…

' _What the hell did you do to me?_ '

If his face had been hurting a little less Clint might've smirked. Instantly his eyes, which were slowly regaining some of their focus, traveled to the small wound on Ifan's neck. His arrow nicked it but didn't sink in fully. Ifan, smart enough to know that he'd been the assassin's main target of interest, had certainly filed it away as the Hawk's rare mistake. What the criminal hadn't seen was the substance the head of the arrow had been dipped in.

Slow effecting poison, Clint's very own creation. Useful if one tried to gather further information on the target before the poor sucker finally dropped dead. He could've killed Ifan instantly, of course, but it was like removing a tick. Do it sloppily and the problem only escalates. Fair enough, Clint had been a tad bit too… preoccupied to do the data-gathering himself. But he didn't work alone anymore. While Ifan focused on him, somewhere out there a massive trap was closing around the man and his network. Like the man himself it was already gone.

Mission accomplished.

Clint lifted his chin the best as he could. These might be the last moment through which he'd be able to remain conscious so he'd use them well. For the first time since losing his hearing he spoke and didn't give a damn how it sounded. "I never miss."

Ifan's eyes widened a fraction, just for a moment, and the man seemed to try and say something. The criminal's lips twitched but no actual words could be read from them. Then, only seconds before his own mind faded to black, Clint saw the monster go down. They both knew that Ifan would never get up again.

Clint fell away there, too. But in the middle of it he experienced what might've very well been only a dream. A hand, a gentle one this time, touched his cheek. Opening his eyes a little he saw a very familiar storm of red. Only one thing in the whole world was that particular shade of red. Clint drifted away with a smile on his face, somehow feeling safe.

* * *

Thinking about it properly, Clint was fairly sure that one wasn't supposed to feel pain when they were dead. Did that mean that he was somehow alive, after all? Or was this the purgatory?

He must've emitted a sound although he still couldn't hear it because all of a sudden he felt movement. A hand squeezed his and he shivered, not trusting the contact to be a friendly one. To his surprise nothing unpleasant followed. The hand grabbed his a little tighter but not enough so to make it hurt.

Clint was so exhausted that he would've wanted to just fall right back into sleep. But he needed to see his companion, just to be sure. After a battle that he barely won he had his eyes halfway open. He frowned at the blurry shape he found until his vision cleared a little.

Natasha Romanoff was sitting beside his bed with a grim look on her face. Her expression didn't betray anything but her eyes and the evidence of several sleepless nights did. Not to even mention the grip she had on his hand.

He must've done a number on her nerves, then.

' _A brilliant plan you had there_ ', she growled. Mindful to speak clearly and slowly enough for him to follow. ' _Play the decoy while others finish up? Let that scumbag use you as a punching bag and a target board?_ ' Her wrist was pressed firmly against his skin so he could feel that her pulse was elevated. ' _This is the last time I let you take a mission without me._ '

Clint tried to tell her that he was fine but somehow he had a feeling that it wouldn't have been too convincing. Instead he tried to shift to a more comfortable position. A big mistake. He couldn't be sure but he had a strong feeling that he groaned at the pain that struck him like Thor's hammer.

Something louder than a groan, then. Because Natasha pressed the button that'd summon a nurse. ' _Easy. You have almost as many broken bones as you have fingers. And a pretty nasty hole in your back. It's a miracle that you weren't dead by the time we found you._ ' She looked at him directly to his eyes, watching how he read her lips. Some sadness that she couldn't disguise appeared to the Widow's face. ' _We… noticed the blood and told a doctor to check it out. It could be only temporary. You need to give yourself some time._ '

Clint nodded slowly, wishing that he'd felt more comforted than he did. He gathered his courage for a moment before daring to try his voice. "Thanks. For coming to get me." He frowned, trying to put his thoughts together. "The mission? The others?" If it all failed, after all, or if one of the others got hurt because of him…

Natasha smiled. Really, actually smiled. The sight was rare but precious and he wondered what caused it. She swatted the one of his shoulders that didn't have a burn mark from the explosion. ' _Don't be an idiot. We've got your back. We always do._ ' She paused, a keen pair of eyes observing the room's door, then focused fully on him. ' _As for the mission, it was a complete success. And the rest of our mad bunch are unscratched if not ready to tear you a new one for all this drama you've caused. We couldn't get a hold of Thor but Bruce, Stark and Cap should be here soon._ ' She rubbed a single soothing circle to the back of his hand. ' _Now sleep. I'll let you know exactly how much of a dumbass you are for getting yourself hurt like this again when you wake up._ '

Clint went under before he could ask what she meant by the 'we'.

* * *

Clint found out, anyway, the second time he woke up.

His pain medication must've been readjusted because for the first time in what felt like ages he wasn't in agony and his head was infuriatingly fuzzy. He shifted carefully and frowned, licking his lips. There was still a hand in his, apparently. He recognized Natasha's touch even without opening his eyes. Just like he sensed another presence and identified the scent of a cologne.

"Stay away from my morphine pump."

He opened his eyes the best as he could just in time to read ' _… creepy_ ' from Tony Stark's lips. The millionaire pursed his lips and gave him a long, evaluating look. ' _No offense, Wilhelm Tell, but you don't look so hot._ '

Clint produced what he hoped to sound like a snort. "Thanks, Tinman." He wanted to sit up but didn't dare to risk it when he finally didn't feel like he'd been torn to pieces and stabbed simultaneously. And then there was the hand latched on his. Moving his head slightly he discovered that Natasha had fallen asleep sitting up, her closed eyes directed firmly towards the door. Clearly she'd kept watch for as long as she could.

' _She was already asleep when I walked in_ ', Tony revealed with an amused expression. ' _I've been stomping around for two hours and she hasn't even twitched. When she finally crashes she really sleeps, huh?_ '

Clint grinned. "Be glad she didn't wake up." He made the mistake of waking her up once, when they were still learning to know each other. She punched him in the face, hard.

Clint was too tired and too deep in thought to speak much after that and Tony was uncharacteristically quiet. Quickly and subtly, not wanting the other to notice it, the archer inspected both of his friends with a single glance. A hint of ease settled into his knotted stomach when he assessed that they were both unharmed. "So…" It was still weird to feel the words in his mouth and throat but not hear them. "You guys came for me? Before it was all over?" He went on after receiving a nod and a much too satisfied smirk. "It's against the guidebook." He got captured. He could've risked _everything_ that'd taken months upon months of painstaking planning. People weren't supposed to waste time on an agent who'd probably already been announced KIA.

Tony's smile fell and something iron hard appeared into those eyes. Befitting, really. ' _Well, luckily to your feathery ass we're not agents, we're the Avengers. Would you have left one us there just to avoid getting yelled at?_ '

Clint shook his head, oddly touched, and subconsciously tightened his hold on Natasha's hand.

' _See, you're one of us, too._ ' As though reading his mind Tony offered him some water before continuing. ' _As for the getting yelled at part… I live to irritate people._ '

Clint grinned. He had a nasty feeling that all the drugs in his system made it seem dopey. "I've noticed." Their eyes met. "Still… Thanks."

Tony shrugged. ' _It was good fun. Well, excluding the part where you scared the crap out of us, what with hanging there half dead._ " The memory sombred the businessman's expression fairly quickly. ' _Not cool, by the way. The next time you pull a stunt like that I'll let Fury have you micro-chipped. Or ringed._ '

Those words made the weight that'd been sitting on Clint's chest multiply tenfold. He gulped thickly, then gave his friend a wry look. "Do you really think that he'll ever send me on another mission? I'm deaf."

' _Only temporarily._ ' Oh, what he would've given to have Tony's steadfast faith…! The man took something from his pocket. ' _And until it's all fixed… you can use this._ ' What he showed made Clint's eyes widen.

It was a special made hearing aid, definitely Stark original. Small, barely visible when used. The design practically screamed that it was made for a field agent.

Clint looked at Tony. "What…?" And why?

' _It's just a rough draft. We can tweak it when we figure out what kind of a thing, exactly, you need._ ' Tony's eyes softened, barely visibly but still. ' _What good would we be without our Robin Hood?_ '

Clint couldn't stop staring at the item. "Nat said that I've only been unconscious for five days. How did you do this so quickly?" Besides, as far as he understood it must've been pretty uncertain for a while whether he'd even pull through. So why the effort for a possibly dying guy?

Tony's eyes, which the man rolled, said it all. Because to him there only ever was one alternative. ' _How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a genius. Now try it on. I want you to hear my amazing voice._ '

Slowly, a part of him fearing that this was all a dream or that it wouldn't work after all, Clint put the hearing aid in place and switched it on. The sweet assault of noise… It was amazing. Enough so to make him hold back a storm of emotions that he wasn't ready to face with audience.

The sounds from the hallway… His heart monitor and I.V… Natasha's soft sleeping sounds… His own ragged breathing… Clint couldn't think of many things that would've been sweeter to hear.

How could he ever thank enough, how could he ever even begin to repay…?

"Hey." Tony still sounded like Tony. It was comforting, wrapped around his shivering frame like a blanket. "You're not gonna pass out on me, are you?"

Clint looked at his friend. He hoped dearly that his gaze said what couldn't be expressed with any words. "You sound just as annoying as always." And his own voice was unbelievably hoarse, like he hadn't used it in a year.

Tony's bright, unrestrained grin was full of something close to joy. Yes, it seemed that the man understood. "Just sleep, Pigeon. If she was awake Romanoff would berate me over keeping you up."

Clint shook his head, laying down and staring at the ceiling. The noise of life, of hope, around him kept going on and on and on. Unstoppable. "Nah. I think I'll just keep listening for a little bit."

* * *

What the trio inside didn't know was that two men observed them from behind the window that separated the room from the hallway. The banter, the way both very much awake Tony and sleeping Natasha seemed to keep watch on the door in case of intruders, the cautious spark of hope that appeared to Clint's eyes… Actually seeing Clint awake and alive…!

Steve Rogers' shoulders, which had been painfully tense for the past five days of a hellish waiting game, finally relaxed a little bit. "I don't know why you risked the operation and let us know that Hawkeye had been captured", he admitted. "But thank you."

"I… owed him as much." His companion was clearly about to leave. "You and your team will look after him, won't you?"

Steve nodded without the slightest bit of hesitation, focusing his full attention on Clint. Those people… They were so much more than a team. And he'd be damned if he didn't fight with tooth and nail to make sure that he wouldn't lose a single one of them. "Of course."

Apparently satisfied with his answer the other man began to walk away. On the last possible moment Steve spoke. "Just out of curiosity… It'd be nice to hear your name", he pointed out. Sensing a hint of surprise in the air he felt one corner of his lips twitch. "You didn't expect me to actually buy that flimsy fake-ID, did you?" He might still be new to the quirks of the modern world but even back in his time he'd been used to the agent stuff.

"It's Ethan." As an afterthought the man went on. "And if he asks 'why' when he's better… Tell him 'Berlin'." With that the stranger was gone.

Steve didn't move to follow or think about that cryptic response too much. At the moment he had far more important things to worry about. So he took his first easy breath in days and headed towards the room to join the people who'd become his family in this strange new world. It'd been a much too close call but they were all safe, now. Steve was determined to make sure that they'd stay that way.

* * *

 ** _End._**

* * *

A/N: He's safe. And whether his hearing is fixed or not he has his Avengers-family there beside him every step of the way to recovery. (BEAMS) I hope that you didn't mind the couple of Easter eggs, btw. I just couldn't help myself.

Soooo… Any good, at all? The word is yours! It'd be FANTASTIC to hear from you.

In any case, a million thank yous for reading! Who knows. Maybe we'll meet again?

Take care


End file.
